Setsu's Dark Moon
by Xanoka
Summary: Setsu urgently needs to talk to her brother, but he's busy masquerading as some hot shot actor in a fancy drama. Her appearance on set might cause a bit of a stir. But Setsu's never been very patient... What's a girl to do?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This has been languishing on my laptop for ages, so I figured I'd finally post it. Since writing it, I've come across a similar story called Nii-san by Jack Ash. It's a good read, I recommend. I did not copy it, though. Also, Skip Beat is not mine.**

Her appearance on the set caused an instant sensation.

It had been a slow morning. Ren and Itsumi had been performing an emotionally charged scene and Ogata had insisted they try it again and again, trying different expressions, tones and gestures to get just the right look. When the director was finally satisfied, he'd called for a fifteen minute break and was immediately engrossed in reviewing the footage with his camera men, leaving the rest of the cast and crew to their own devices.

"Well, I'm glad that's finally over, Kimura-san," Itsumi told her manager in an undertone. "I don't think I could have kept up that expression of 'agonised uncertainty' much longer. And Tsuruga-san wasn't helping."

"He's enough to distract any woman," her manager agreed with a twinkle in her eye that belied her solemn expression.

Itsumi flushed. "Well, there is that... I mean, no! I meant he seemed a little distracted. Don't you think?" Seeing Kimura's expression, she continued. "I suppose it wasn't much, and from where you were, maybe it wasn't noticeable, but I'm sure he's normally a little more focused. I think the director noticed too. It'd explain all the retakes, at least partially," she added a little defensively, at her manager's raised eyebrow. She was _not_ one of those actresses who blamed retakes and NGs solely on her co-stars!

"You may be right." Kimura glanced over to the discrete corner where Japan's number one heart throb was currently leaning against a wall, apparently equally relieved to be out of the spotlight for a while.

Kimura Sakura, manager to one of Japan's fastest rising stars, was a middle-aged, happily married woman with three almost-grown children. And while she would admit she wasn't completely immune to Tsuruga Ren's looks and charm – and who was? – she wasn't blinded by them either. Despite the teasing, she privately agreed with her charge. Tsuruga-san had arrived on set with a distracted air, and though he had seemed more focused on his return from make-up and costume, he had been less responsive to Ogata's direction than usual, just nodding instead of adding his own suggestions or asking questions. She watched him now as he accepted a bottle of water from his manager without looking at him, earning a reproach, judging by his apologetic smile and murmured words.

From what she had seen since Dark Moon started filming, it was unlike him to be so distracted. Even during that tricky phase while was still getting to grips with Katsuki, Tsuruga-san had been nothing less than single-minded, devoted to his work. Sakura was no tabloid blood hound or die-hard fan, obsessing over Japan's most private and enigmatic star, yearning for any hint of gossip (or of any personal life at all). Yet, though she would have preferred to swallow her own tongue than admit it, she couldn't help feeling curious. What could possibly have happened to have rattled the legendarily smooth, unflappable actor?

As she mused, half-listening to Itsumi saying something about going to freshen up in her dressing room, Kimura gradually became aware of a commotion behind her.

While they had been talking the rest of the cast and crew had begun to drift around, chatting and clustering around the table of refreshments. Reshooting the same scene over and over was hardly gripping, even for the crew involved, and had quickly become horribly dull for the cast and extras waiting on the side-lines. That boredom combined with enforced idleness made them all eager for a distraction. They got one.

Black leather high heeled boots encasing long pale legs; tiny black leather shorts; a figure- hugging, midriff baring corset top that squeezed and revealed a tantalising glimpse of cleavage; long blonde hair (was it natural or dyed?) with pink streaks; a nose piercing; dark grey, challenging eyes set in smoky eyelids and full, pouty lips covered in black lipstick. She sashayed onto the set and surveyed all before her with an air of haughty disinterest.

" _Who_ is that?" a make-up artist asked in an awed half whisper.

Kimura glanced around to see if anyone would respond. One of the sound guys standing near them just shook his head dumbly, mouth hanging open, his grip on his buffer slackening completely. He flushed, embarrassed, as it fell to the floor with a clatter and scurried away after retrieving it. Amused, Kimura turned to Itsumi, but she didn't seem to have noticed. Her attention was focused on the woman currently standing a few feet from them, scanning the area and ignoring the stares and whispers she inspired, apparently unruffled by the intense scrutiny.

She stood like a runway model, hand on her hip, effortlessly casual and confident, as if she had more right to be there than any of them. Itsumi felt a pang of envy. She was the centre of attention without even trying. That woman had to be in showbiz. It just wouldn't be fair otherwise.

In an attempt to squash the unworthy thought, Itsumi murmured "I've never seen her before. Do you know who she is, Kimura-san?"

Her manager frowned, studying her subject assessingly. "She's not one of our usual extras, and she'd be in costume and make-up by now if she were a stand-in. She must have a pass to visit the set since she got past security, so I'd say she must be someone's girlfriend, or possibly a relative."

"Oh, definitely the first one. Want to try and guess whose?" Oohara-san had joined them. She winked impishly and added in a conspiratorial undertone "My money's on Ogata-sama."

Itsumi snorted despite herself and Kimura-san's hand went to her mouth. When she'd contained whatever silent laughter she'd almost unprofessionally let slip she only stated mildly, without the trace of a quiver in her voice, "I don't think so. A girl like that would eat him alive."

"I would," Oohara said seriously. "He's _so_ pretty. But, you're right, she seems a little out there for our director-sama." She eyed Itsumi with a gleam in her eye. "That just leaves Tsuruga-san then."

"What about the rest of the cast?"

"Quite right. One can't make assumptions these days. She could be here to see her girlfriend. Not telling us something, Itsumi-san?"

"She doesn't seem like Tsuruga-san's type to me," Kimura broke in.

"Tsuruga-san's 'type'. Now there's a mystery. I haven't heard anything about his love life for years. He's practically a hermit. Although..." Oohara chuckled. "Maybe he has a wild side. Good boys love bad girls and all the rest of it. I'd love that. Oh, look! She's on the move! Finally."

Their eyes followed the trajectory of the direction she seemed to be taking.

"Oh, _kami_ ," Oohara breathed. "I can't believe it. I was actually right!"

Against all probability, the mystery girl was heading determinedly in the actor's direction, a smirk playing on her lips. Tsuruga-san, for his part, stood straighter in anticipation, saying something to his manager to send him hurrying away.

All eyes were on them, waiting to see what they would do.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello, all! Wow! I was so impressed by the response to this story! Thank you very much to everyone who favourited and/or followed, and especially to Saya, evilteddybear, skyeza, Matelia-legwll, Tenebris Domina, CamogianGrl, booklover321, ddfpstw, ncisduckie, Kumioko, Natsu Heel and the mysterious anonymous guests who left reviews. You guys (sort of) literally give life to this story! I'm really sorry for the long wait! I wrote chapter one ages ago, lost interest in Skip Beat, then unearthed it on my laptop and decided to publish anyway. Without your support, I would never had continued this story, so thank you! I plan to write at least a couple more chapters, but thought I'd better publish this quick to show you I'm still alive/thinking on Setsu.**

* * *

"Yashiro-san! This is Mogami Kyoko."

"Ah, yes. Kyoko-chan!" _Act surprised, Yuki. No need to let her know her number's on speed dial. "_ How can I help you? I'm afraid Ren is working right now, but I can pass on a message if you like?"

There was a pause over the line, long enough for him to wonder whether the connection had broken.

"No, that's all right. Lory-sama asked me to give him the message myself. I tried calling him earlier, but he didn't answer."

Yashiro swallowed, thinking of the fate of Ren's phone. He'd thought he'd spill with his phone as leverage. Unfortunately, that man just would not break.

"Sorry, Kyoko-chan. That may have been my fault. I… accidentally… well, I broke Ren's phone this morning."

"Ah, the curse?"

Kyoko was always wonderfully understanding about such things, for some reason.

"That's right," he lied.

"Oh, well. It can't be helped. Perhaps if I visit the set? Would that be all right, Yashiro-san? Lory-sama said it was very urgent."

Yashiro glanced slyly over at his charge. He had been acting strangely this morning, distracted, almost dazed. He had his theories, but seeing them together would certainly confirm or deny them.

"That's fine, Kyoko-chan. As long as you have time, of course."

She hummed agreement and hung up, leaving him to tingle in anticipation.

* * *

Kyoko had a dilemma. She needed to speak to Ren, the President had been very clear about that. He'd said he needed to talk to both of them, though he refused to tell her why. He'd also said he'd been unable to get through to Ren, Yashiro's technology curse explained that, at least. So now it was up to her.

Kyoko bit her lip.

She could try calling again, of course. If she timed it right, she might catch Ren on a break. That would be hopelessly optimistic, of course – who knew when he'd next be free? She could ask Yashiro to get Ren to call her back, but the President hadn't seemed to want to involve him, for some reason. This left the option of visiting the set herself.

Normally, she wouldn't hesitate. As a member of the cast she could come and go as she pleased, after all.

Unfortunately, she had been Setsu last night and was due to be Setsu again this evening. Ten-san had called to say she was unwell, and since Kyoko had only planned to read scripts and do homework all day she hadn't bothered to change. She could change now and go to the set as herself. But that left the problem of what she would do later.

She was getting better at doing her own make-up, but she wasn't confident she could transform herself into Setsu completely on her own. And Ren needed Setsu.

She couldn't drag Ten-san from her sick-bed for something as inconsequential as this, could she?

Kyoko shuddered. No, that was not an option.

So that left going to the set as Setsu, or not at all.

* * *

Half an hour later, Kyoko stood hesitating outside the studio, trying to ignore the stares of passers-by.

She felt vulnerable and embarrassed, as she always did when she thought about her appearance as Setsu. Not to mention a little cold where the skin of her legs, stomach, chest and arms were exposed. Setsu, she thought, did not wear enough clothes.

Her stomach turned as she stared blankly at the doors to the studio. It had been bad enough being seen as Setsu by Ren and the President. She cringed at the thought of appearing before the majority of the cast and crew of _Dark Moon_ , people she respected. If they realised who she was she might die to embarrassment. Not to mention what it would do to Ren's Cain Heel masquerade if word got out. She couldn't let that happen.

It was time to get into character.

Kyoko closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Her shoulder dropped and her stance relaxed, leg bending and hip jutting out challengingly.

Setsu opened her eyes.

* * *

Hashimoto Daiki watched the girl across the street suspiciously.

As a security guard, he saw some strange things on a fairly regular basis. Rabid fangirls, for one. With Tsuruga-san in the building that was a distinct possibility.

Fangirls did not normally look like her, however.

Eventually the mystery girl sashayed over.

She didn't say anything and didn't wait for him to speak either. Instead, she produced a studio pass from somewhere on her person, laid it carelessly on the little sill of his booth and allowed her gaze to drift.

A passing group of teenagers nudged each other, whispering and gesticulating at her.

She narrowed her eyes.

They hurried on.

Daiki was impressed. As a man of few words himself, he could appreciate a non-verbal, non-physical smackdown.

As a token of his appreciation, he didn't comment, inspecting her pass instead.

He raised an eyebrow.

Mogami Kyoko's face smiled back at him from the pass.

Mogami Kyoko. Kyoko-chan, who sometimes offered to share her bento with him, always bowed whenever she passed and always thanked him with a sunny smile.

His eyes flicked to the girl surreptitiously.

As if sensing his gaze, grey eyes met his, staring back with cool indifference, lip curling slightly in scorn.

Daiki did not relent, studying her carefully.

His first thought, of course, was that the pass had been lost or loaned (strictly against studio policy). Such carelessness was unlike Kyoko-chan, however.

And as he looked at her, he could see Kyoko's cheekbones, nose and eyes emerging from the camouflage of the dramatic make-up and sneering expression.

He looked at the pass once more to be sure, then huffed and handed it back to her.

He didn't much care how Kyoko-chan chose to dress in her free time. It was not his job to speculate, and certainly not to gossip.

She smirked in triumph and threw him a mocking salute as he unlocked the door and buzzed her through.

Daiki just shook his head and returned to his newspaper.

 _Kids these days!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** : **Wow, I am so sorry for disappearing on you all. I'm afraid I've been distracted by life and other fandoms. But thank you so much to everyone who's been reading, following and especially to everyone who's left a review! Getting a recent one actually inspired me to finish up this chapter, so thank you! And horray for the power of reviews!**

* * *

Ren leaned against the wall and tried to focus.

Somehow his mind kept circling back to a certain hotel room and a certain girl he'd left there.

He shivered despite himself and closed his eyes.

It was just so hard to think about work when all he wanted to do was be back there.

And it wasn't just because of the corsets, and the smouldering eyes and the pouty lips and the creamy exposed skin. (Though, god knows, he was probably going to hell for the amount of time he spent thinking about them.).

It was the arm around his waist, soft hair under his chin, smelling faintly of strawberries under the hairspray, pressing close whether they were walking down the street or cuddling on the sofa. It was in the thrill of a shared secret, and the terrible knowledge that he could touch her whenever he wanted and she would lean in. Only he could stop himself. And mostly it was the warmth (just for him ) in her voice, in his chest, hand in his, lips on his skin.

He rubbed the side of his neck where the mark had been, long since faded, then dropped his hand hastily.

A few people had commented on what was becoming a nervous habit, speculating on where it had come from. A few gossip columnists had hit unnervingly close to the mark.

It needed to stop.

Something nudged his arm and he opened his eyes to see a bottle of cold water in Yashiro's hand. He took it without comment and cracked it open, suddenly ridiculously thirsty.

He'd taken a long gulp, before realising he hadn't even thanked his manager. Who was watching him reproachfully with a raised eyebrow. He forced a smile.

"Sorry. Thank you, Yashiro. I've been a little distracted."

"So I can see," his manger commented, attempting to catch his skittering eye. "Care to tell me why?"

Ren didn't respond, which was answer enough.

He heard Yashiro sigh and turn away, leaving him to stew in peace.

He rubbed his neck again without thinking and stretched.

In all honesty, he was tired.

It had been a long, boring morning. Which, he guiltily admitted to himself, was probably partly his fault. He had been less engaged with the director and his co-star than he should have been.

But it was hard to care.

Sharing a hotel room with Kyoko was not good for his sleep patterns; and the strain of restraining himself around her – even buried under the guise of Cain – was not helping.

And all the while, Cain's voice was whispering in the back of his mind that in a few hours – only a few – they'd get to see her again.

He shifted his weight and tried to think of something else.

At least it was good for his performance. It wasn't much of a stretch to convey 'anguished longing and frustration'.

At least, it would have been if he wasn't so out of it. At the very least, Yashiro had definitely noticed. He'd been shooting him funny looks all morning.

Ren silently vowed to put Kyoko completely out of his mind.

And heard the dull thud of a muffler hitting the floor, just as the muted susurrus of gossip broke out on the set, spreading like ripples on a millpond.

Some premonition gripped him, a thrill of knowing before he'd even raised his eyes.

And there she was.

Resplendent in her impassivity.

Until her eyes fell on him. At once they seemed to sharpen, and a glimmer of a smirk played along her lips.

He was distantly aware of Yashiro saying something, and he must have reacted in some way because he was suddenly alone.

And she was sashaying towards him, hips swaying. He honestly wasn't sure he could have looked away, even if he wanted to.

Not that he minded.

He knew she could see him looking. So could everyone else, for that matter.

The smirk grew knowingly and he could see that conspiratorial gleam in her eye as she neared him.

Thoughts of his wholesome reputation, of gossip, of Cain Heel's anonymity melted away.

It was just the two of them, in their own private world.

His lips curled to match hers.

And she was there, looking up at him through long eyelashes, resting her hand on his arm as she leaned into him.

"Nii-san," she breathed. "I missed you."

"Setsu," Cain rumbled back, the word coming from deep in his chest. "What are you doing here?"

She pouted, tilting her head coquettishly. Do I need a reason to come see my Nii-san?"

Her hands were sliding up his arms distractingly. He caught her elbows reflexively, pulling her closer.

"You know I'm working." He might have tried to sound reproachful, but how could be ever scold his little sister?

She knew it too.

"But Nii-san. I've something to tell you. It's important." She'd lowered her voice unnecessarily, since no one was close enough to hear them, forcing him to lean even closer.

Her breath was warm on his ear.

"So, tell me." He murmured.

Her eyes slid to the side, and for the first time he remembered they weren't alone.

Over her shoulder he caught sight of Yashiro staring at him as if he were a stranger. He was clutching an unopened bottle of water, tight enough to pop it. Ren could hear a muffled thud somewhere, as if someone had dropped a heavy object.

He dropped his eyes to Setsu's face. She was watching him patiently, confidently.

Unable to help himself, he touched her cheek.

"Come on. My dressing room. Tell me there."

A small, warm hand slid into his, and he lead her away, oblivious to all the eyes upon them.


End file.
